


Grief

by BananaChef



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Arguing, Child Death, Family Drama, Father-Daughter Relationship, Gen, Grief/Mourning, Inspired by Hamilton, Jaime Lannister Being an Idiot, Married Couple, POV Jaime Lannister, Painting, Wakes & Funerals, bc Jaime's being dumb, it's okay he's grieving and it'll work out in the end, so i did the thing where i take out logic and replace it with drama
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-16
Updated: 2020-09-16
Packaged: 2021-03-06 18:15:02
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,367
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26323234
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BananaChef/pseuds/BananaChef
Summary: It wasn’t long before the consistent beeping turned inconsistent, and then constant. Jaime hadn’t cried so fiercely since his mother’s funeral.
Relationships: Jaime Lannister & Original Female Character(s), Jaime Lannister/Brienne of Tarth
Comments: 4
Kudos: 20





	Grief

**Author's Note:**

> This is for you, anon.

“Where’s my son?” Jaime asked fiercely, storming into the hospital, hands shaking.

“Mr. Lannister,” a nurse greeted gravely, recognizing Galladon’s father on sight. “Follow me. He was brought in half an hour ago, lower limbs most likely paralyzed along with a fractured—”

“Is he alive?” he pushed through the constriction of his throat, following the nurse down a hallway and up a flight of stairs.

“Yes, but you have to understand, he lost a lot of blood. We’ve done everything we can, but—”

“Can I see him? Please.” Jaime’s voice cracked and he raked a hand through his hair, which was more silver than gold now.

“Of course. He’s been asking for you and his mother.” The nurse opened a door into a white room, Galladon lying on the hospital bed. “We don’t think he’ll last very long. We contacted his closest relatives: you, Mrs. Lannister, and your daughter Joanna. I’ll leave you here with him.”

Jaime was barely listening, too engrossed with the wide stain of blood on the left side of Gal’s chest. He pulled a chair over to his son’s side, taking Galladon’s weak hand in his own. The seventeen-year-old barely reacted beyond taking a shuddering breath with help from a tube stuck down his throat.

“I’m so, so, _so,_ sorry, Gal,” Jaime started through his tears, bringing his son’s hand to his lips before clasping it in his hands. “I failed you, I should’ve _been there,_ I should’ve told you not to go, I should’ve—I should’ve—”

Jaime broke down into sobs, letting his forehead fall onto the edge of the hospital bed. _I shouldn’t have spent so much time at work. I should’ve been with him more._ “Dad—” Galladon managed before his body seized up in pain, his eyes shutting tightly as he gripped his father’s hand.

“Shh,” Jaime murmured, petting his son on the head. “It’ll be alright. Mama’s coming. It’ll be alright.” After a few minutes of this along with more tears, he heard a sharp intake of breath and then a sob— _Brienne_ —as she made her way over to Galladon.

“My son...” she whispered, and Jaime lifted up his head to get a glimpse at his wife through his tears. Brienne carded her fingers through Gal’s golden hair, the way she’d done every night when he was young to get him to sleep. “My baby...”

“Mama,” Gal croaked out, and he wheezed out a sob, a tear falling down his cheek. He reached out his hand, even though it was apparent that the effort pained him greatly, to touch Brienne’s tear-streaked face. She placed her hand over his own, reigning in her tears to be strong for her son.

“I’m here, baby. I’m here,” she murmured soothingly, not giving Jaime a glance as the two watched their son die. “It’s okay, Gal. I’m right here.”

A knock sounded on the door and a nurse entered, a clipboard in hand. “I’m so sorry to disturb you, Mr. and Mrs. Lannister, but I have Do Not Resuscitate forms. If you don’t sign them, we’ll attempt to resuscitate your son, but there are risks and likely outcomes that don’t involve him living. I’ll leave them here.” The nurse set the clipboard on at the foot of the hospital bed before leaving.

Jaime and Brienne reached for it at the same time, their fingers brushing. Immediately, she drew back her hand as if stung, refusing to even glance at him, and the action hurt him more than it had any right to. She had every right to be angry. If only he’d been paying attention to the time... Jaime picked up the clipboard and attempted to grasp the pen that came with it, but he failed.

He cleared his throat, and suddenly everything seemed a lot clearer. The beeping of Galladon’s heart rate being monitored and the quiet whir of machinery, along with the occasional sniffle from Brienne. “I can’t...” Jaime trailed off helplessly, gesturing to his wife. He still had trouble with his right hand after all these years, but normally Brienne would be there to help without him asking.

She looked up at him, eyes red and tearful, for only a moment before looking down to the clipboard and pen. She reached out and took them both from him, reading the documents with startling efficiency before signing them. She handed them back to Jaime and pointed to a blank square for a signature. “Sign here,” Brienne told him tersely and immediately turned back to Galladon, who seemed to have drifted off to sleep.

He did as he was told. It wasn’t long before the consistent beeping turned inconsistent, and then constant. Jaime hadn’t cried so fiercely since his mother’s funeral.

* * *

**Two Days Later**

At least Brienne was talking to him again. Or, rather, yelling. “IF YOU HADN’T BEEN SO ENGROSSED IN YOUR WORK YOU WOULD’VE SEEN HIS TEXT AND GONE TO PICK HIM UP!”

Jaime raked his fingers through his hair, which was somehow greyer than before. “HOW MANY TIMES DO I HAVE TO TELL YOU THAT IT WAS AN ACCIDENT? I DIDN’T KNOW HIS FRIENDS WERE FUCKING _DRUNK,_ BRIENNE!”

“ _GODS,_ JAIME, THAT’S NOT THE FUCKING POINT!” Her eyes were electric blue.

“THEN WHAT IS?”

She swallowed, chin trembling in the way that always made him want to kiss it away. “You’ve been spending so much time at the office... I thought—I thought you loved me, but now you’ve been spending longer hours at work, ignoring our calls and texts... If you’re seeing someone behind my back just file for divorce. If you’ve fallen out of love with me—” She choked up and wrapped her arms around herself. “—then file for divorce.”

Jaime was hurt, more than he ever had been before. After all these years, Brienne still didn’t trust that he was faithful to her. Had she always been worried? All these years, had she bottled that fear inside? “Brienne...” he whispered, and took a step closer. But what could he tell her? The truth? He wanted to surprise her still, especially after Galladon’s... His wife, his love, meant everything to him, and he wanted to make something special to celebrate their anniversary.

“I don’t want you in bed with me. Sleep on the couch, or in the office, or at work—I don’t care. I just don’t want you near me unless you have to be.” Without a moment to comprehend what had just happened, Brienne left Jaime standing in the living room. He heard the sound of the door to their bedroom open and close, and a sense of finality washed over him.

Did she truly expect him to file for divorce? He wouldn’t. He couldn’t. Brienne hadn’t mentioned _her_ filing for divorce, which could only mean she didn’t want one...despite believing that Jaime was cheating on her. _Oh, Brienne..._ Still leaving that choice to him when she was the one hurting. _Still a giver, even after all these years._

Jaime checked the time on his watch and decided to sleep in the office tonight. The couch was too small to fit all six feet of him, but he tried anyway, pulling the neatly folded blanket down from the back. That, too, was too small. But it smelled like Brienne’s laundry detergent, a strange comfort. In the morning, he woke up to the sunlight from the window above the couch lighting up the white-walled room. _French toast,_ he thought out of nowhere. And then: _Brienne loves french toast._

(When she went downstairs for breakfast, Jaime was nowhere to be found, but french toast made the exact way she liked it was waiting for her on the kitchen island.)

* * *

**One Week Later**

Jaime’s phone rang loudly enough to startle him. He set down his paintbrush and pallet, wiped his hands off on his apron, and listened to the ringtone. _Yo daughta’s callin’!_ it sang in an obnoxious voice. Joanna had suggested it herself. _Yo daughta’s callin’! You betta pick up cuz yo daughta’s callin’!_ He reached out for the device and swiped up to answer.

“Hi, Jojo,” he said softly.

 _“What the fuck happened between you and Mom?”_ Jaime winced as if he’d been slapped. He’d expected Jo to ask, but it hurt all the same. He was currently staying in a decent hotel only a fifteen-minute walk from the house, and every minute he wasn’t painting was spent wallowing in misery. Thankfully, that wasn’t often. _“She won’t tell me—she told me to call you if I really wanted to know. I mean, I’m really not sure if I do but... Dad...”_ Joanna started choking up, Jaime with her. _“What did you do, Dad? I don’t—I can’t bear it if you guys get a divorce. Please make it up to Mom.”_

“I’ll try, Jojo,” he told her as she sobbed. Jaime could almost see her curled up in bed with the lights off as she’d done when she was in middle school and high school. “I’ll try.”

* * *

**Two Weeks Later**

Jaime barely heard the speeches given at Galladon’s funeral. After his own, he gave up on listening and instead stared at the ground, letting the soft spring breeze calm him. It brought back memories from his childhood, when he would play at the beach with his mother. _She’s gone now, just like Gal._ Eventually, the speeches ended, and Gal’s ashes were scattered into the wind. People started to leave then, and Jaime got his fair share of consolatory claps on the shoulder or quick handshakes. After what seemed like hours, it was just him and Brienne left in the progressing darkness.

Jaime walked over to her until he was standing in front of her. Her gaze stayed firmly at his chest until, throat constricted, he gently tilted her chin up so she was looking at him. Wordlessly, he drew out a tissue from the packet he had in his pocket and wiped away Brienne’s tears with infinite delicacy. Her chin was trembling in the way it always did when she was about to shed tears (again, in this case), so he wrapped his arms around her, holding her close.

Brienne’s body shook with quiet sobs as she buried her face in the crook of his neck. “I’m sorry,” Jaime choked out, and he belatedly realized that he was crying too. “Please, just—stay with me tonight.” She nodded against his shoulder in response.

By the time they departed the graveyard, it was fully dark out. The two walked to the terraced bayside area of Evenfall, stopping by a small twenty-four-hour restaurant for food. They held hands looking out over Evenfall’s port, the stars shining above them as lights from ships shone down below. Brienne stepped closer to him and put her head on his shoulder, letting Jaime put his hand around her waist as she grabbed his right hand.

 _Forgiveness._ The thought made him tear up once more. _Forgiveness for failing in fatherhood, at least._

* * *

**Three Weeks Later**

It was finally finished. Jaime had finally finished his painting—the one that had caused him to miss Galladon’s texts that fateful night. The scene was of a forested area on the bank of a stream (an area he and Brienne had visited many times over the years, with and without their children) with Gal in the foreground, back when he was three or four years old.

He’d taken to driving out to the bay area after lunch, setting up his easel as people walked by, painting until the sun started to set, and then head home. Finally, after a week of this, the painting was finally done. And just in time, too; today was his and Brienne’s anniversary. Every second of his drive home felt painfully long, and the process of unloading the car, walking to the door, shoving it open, and taking off his shoes, followed by sneaking off to the storage room to put away the easel was nerve-wracking. Jaime took the stairs one step at a time, painting in hand, and walked over to their bedroom door.

Brienne had allowed him to move back in a week ago. The house itself was the same, but it felt empty without Galladon to occupy it with his parents. Jaime gently knocked on the door and opened it. “You’re back,” Brienne said from the bed, a book in hand. His wife sounded happy, and Jaime was glad; she’d been through so much—she deserved happiness.

“I am. And I brought a gift.” He stepped into the room and held up his painting. “Happy anniversary.”

Brienne was silent for a long time, her eyes widened in surprise. Eventually, her chin started trembling, and she bookmarked the page of her book before setting it aside and walking over to him. “Is this...? How long...?” She couldn’t seem to finish a sentence, so she reached out to the canvas and trailed the tips of her fingers along it.

“Four weeks.” Brienne looked up at him. “It took me four weeks.” Realization dawned on her face, but before she could say anything Jaime continued. “I’m sorry I didn’t just tell you, but I wanted it to be a surprise, and I thought that after Gal...” He started choking up but forced himself to continue. “After that, I thought that you needed a surprise now more than ever. I didn’t—I wasn’t thinking clearly, but...Brienne...” Jaime swallowed thickly and set the painting aside. He took her hands in his own, his right a little clumsy. “I love you, and only you. I will only _ever_ love you.” He kissed the back of her hands. “I promise.”

Brienne was silent for a while, her eyes shining. Finally, she responded in a quiet voice: “I know.” She let out something that was half a laugh, half a sob, and let go of his hands to pull him in for a kiss. “I know,” she repeated when they parted. “I love you so much, you idiot. And I love the painting too.”

Jaime let out a relieved laugh-sigh and pressed his forehead to Brienne’s, his hands resting on her waist. In her embrace, everything felt like it was falling back into place.


End file.
